Whiskey Girl
by Brightelf
Summary: Sometimes all you need is to get on equal footing...
1. Chapter 1

Whiskey Girl

copyright 2014

DISCLAIMER (but I don't know her!): I do not own anything to do with Psych. Regretfully. This is a damn shame, because I could've had so much fun. Hence, I write fanfiction.

OTHER DISCLAIMER: I am a huge fan of Karlton. Don't like? Don't read. Let's all play nice here. I'm especially directing it to one particular review I deleted on my previous story "Thanks for the Imagery, Spencer!" You have a choice to read. I let you know what it contains. Therefore, don't troll me because you read something you knew you didn't like. Play nice.

I never thought Kirsten Nelson got enough screen time…IMHO.

Summary: Pre-Psych. An awkward second year beat cop and a mouthy yearling cop.

So again, Carlton Lassiter, second year on the force, found himself sitting in a bar along with the rest of the plebes, first years, and second years, watching as the rest of his fellow cops socialized and laughed, flirted with each other, and basically relaxed after the truly shitty week that befit those lowest on the law enforcement totem pole. Carlton Jebediah Lassiter, however, not quite comfortable with small talk, sat on the perimeter, occasionally chatting with his few friends and debating whether to hit on one of the newbie female cops (assuming they didn't run away screaming. He wasn't exactly good at being smooth). Carlton cursed the heat he could feel rising up through his collar as his insecurity and natural shyness ate at him.

He looked over at some of the female cops. He understood the whole equality thing, he supposed, but he also knew many of these female cops wouldn't last, or would remain forever meter maids. Most made no secret about wanting to "marry up" to some DA or judge and not marry a fellow cop (which he supposed colored his view of them, but there you had it). He admitted to himself, though he would never voice it out loud, no sir, not in this day and age of political correctness, that it made some of the women cops he had encountered within the Academy and the SBPD lose respect in his eyes. To serve as a cop was an honor, and yeah, they were all on the shitty end of it now, but they were serving and protecting, creating justice. Carlton couldn't remember a time when he had wanted to do anything else. He couldn't respect any cop, woman OR man, who didn't wear the badge with the same sense of responsibility. That being said, Libby Dalton has come in off her shift an hour earlier and was still in her uniform, and as the resident "hot lady cop" of SBPD, she did fuel his (and every other male's) Heather Locklear-on-TJ Hooker fantasy. Carlton tried to work up the courage to walk over there and ask her to the upcoming holiday party for the precinct at Mahoney's next Friday night. His introspection was interrupted by the slightly drunken voice of Jack Grady, a five-year veteran (and resident asshole according to most of the newbies, a sentiment Carlton shared).

"Hey! Look who just walked in! It's my sweetheart! You gonna /serve/ me tonight, Dunlap?"

"Bite me, Grady! There's the menu, I'm not on it. And since I'm not on duty and you're not in uniform, shut the hell up before you get taken out by a girl!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Carlton saw a blonde ponytail flash past and someone duck quickly behind the bar. He rolled his eyes as Grady continued to make an ass of himself. "Dunlap, you're breaking my heart."

"Kiss my ass!"

"Can I?"

A glass slammed down in front of Carlton on the bar, followed by a bottle of opener. Carlton's sharp blue eyes studied the person of said glass slamming. His brain immediately went through all the statistics he had memorized on all the yearlings. Officer Karen Marie Dunlap. Twenty-three. Graduated with a B.S. in Biology, summa cum laude from UCLA. Graduated with top honors from the Police Academy. Top marks in fire arms and hand-to-hand (something which intrigued Carlton). Working on Master's in Criminology at UC-Santa Barbara, same as him. She was in his Psychological Profiling class, though she tended to keep to herself, also like him. He remembered some things overheard from Detective Henry Spencer, who had apparently taken some sort of interest in her. Carlton had heard a few jokes around the locker room about that, though no one was stupid enough to say it in front of Spencer. Apparently she aspired to be a homicide detective, and then a chief of police, which had gathered many laughs from the "boys club" of the precinct. He had been there when Henry Spencer had shut them down, saying that girl was whip smart and going to go places. Hell, if someone like Spencer put belief in a yearling like that, then Lassiter could agree with it. Carlton had no problem with a woman wanting to make detective though Chief of Police was pushing it. SBPD had always been a boys' club.

"You need another beer?" A soft contralto broke his concentration and he looked up at the object of his current thoughts. Brown-no-Carlton's sharp blue eyes picked up bits of green and gold in an almost amber color-hazel eyes locked with his. "Do you need another beer?"

Carlton shook out of his revery. "Yeah. Sure. PBR." She nodded and walked away to the freezer, cracking the cap open with the bottle opener like a damned expert. "You're on a tab, right Carlton?" His eyes widened at her use of his first name. Dunlap smirked. "Carlton Lassiter. Two years. They have me in research and records too."

"Ah." He took a swig of his PBR. "Thanks. And yeah." She nodded and turned away as another customer, a fellow cop, asked for a Jaeger shot.

Carlton turned his attention back to the matter at hand, which was working up the courage to ask Libby Dalton out for the holiday social next Friday. He watched as the California beach blonde (he did love blondes) giggled and rubbed Miller's arm. He could hear the nun who taught him third-grade religion in his head. /Heaven helps those who help themselves, lad./ He grinned. Since she was a nun, he doubt she meant it about getting a date. Taking a swig of his PBR for extra courage, he took a breath and walked over. "Officer Dalton-um, Libby-" she stopped what she was doing and both she and Miller stared at him. He felt the words get stuck in his throat. /Smooth, asshat! Just ASK!/ He cringed inwardly as Libby tried to roll her eyes inconspicuously. The ghost of a smirk went across Miller's face. And all of Carlton's insecurities kicked into gear; his anger began to boil. "Never mind." He walked away, but not soon enough to avoid hearing Miller's remark. "Have you ever met a bigger dork in your life?" Libby Dalton giggled again, and unlike the previous times where it had been music to Carlton's ears, this time it was harsh, grating. "Nope. Though he does have big feet. That's usually a good thing, though I think he'd trip over his. Probably clumsy all over."

Carlton slump on one of the barstools. He knew he was a beanpole. He knew he wasn't smooth and could be a real bastard. But he didn't deserve to be laughed at. Hell, who the hell was he kidding? He watched as Miller drunkenly pulled an equally drunken Libby Dalton out, both of them showing more PDA than two horny teenagers. The only difference was, unlike Miller, he wouldn't trash talk Libby after they did what she and Miller were about to so obviously do. So much for pushing out of his comfort zone. /Robocop, that's me./


	2. Chapter 2

Carlton sipped the last dregs of his PBR as the time ticked away. He looked around as most of the regulars were emptying out. Matt Conley, another cop who considered himself a hotshot on fast track to becoming the youngest detective in SBPD history was flirting with one of the female cops. Carlton considered him a jackass. Brilliant mind, but sloppy, lazy, and self-entitled. And even he was going to go home with someone tonight. Lassiter couldn't even take comfort in the fact the guy wouldn't last. Truth was, he was…if not lonely, because he had been alone in some way, shape, or form for so long, he wouldn't know different…then, looking for company, even if it was because someone like Libby Dalton felt sorry for him. Because Carlton knew that was the only way he would ever get to date someone that out of his league. A Johnny Cash song played in the background. In his head, he replayed the entire conversation, not seeing the person come up next to him. "Lassiter." He looked up and…oh. Libby Dalton stood there, smirking, leaning on the bar. "Oh, hey Libb-"

"Yeah, whatever. Look, apparently you came over there to ask me something, so ask." Carlton stared at her, unbelieving that he was being given a second chance. "Um…yeah. Look, uh…the social next week-"

"Are you asking me to it?" Her green eyes shifted for a second and then she look back at him. /Smooth, jackass. Can't even ask a woman out./ "Yes. Yeah, Libby I'd like to." Again that sideways glance and then back at him. "Fine. 7:30 there. Okay?"

It was as if Heaven's gates had opened and angels were strumming away on harps. /Answer her asshat!/ Carlton suddenly remembered his ability to speak. "Great! Sure! I'll see you there."

"Sure." And without another word, she walked off back to Miller and they left again. Carlton caught them glancing back at him and sharing a smirk. It was subtle, and only a cop could have caught it, but again Libby had that odd sidelong glance. And then he heard both she and Miller laugh uproariously. And again they left, with nary a backwards glance. And then it hit him what those sidelong glances were about and knew what he would find at the Friday get together. And his self-righteous anger began to burn inside as he realized what he had seen on Libby Dalton's face. It was mockery. It was a dare to see if he would show up with the lack of knowledge that she would be there and act like she didn't know what he was talking about when he went to her next Friday. And it was pity. His anger began to churn in his gut. Carlton Lassiter neither wanted nor liked pity. And he had just been made a jackass of by two people who could care less. He slammed the bottle of PBR on the bar.

A shot glass was pushed in his direction. He looked down into amber liquid and then up into eyes that were the same. Karen Dunlap smiled wryly as she shook her bangs out of her eyes. He raised his eyebrows in a question. "If you're slamming a beer bottle that hard on the bar, you obviously need something a lot stronger." She nodded. "Irish whiskey." Carlton again noticed how her eyes were the same color of a smooth glass of whiskey. Still, he didn't need anymore pity…or mockery. "Do I look that bad off?" he barked, knowing, as usual, it would probably send her scurrying off, tail between her legs like it did everyone else.

"Actually, yeah." His eyes widened at her swift comeback and he glared at her. Karen Dunlap merely grinned at him, completely undisturbed by his death glare. Hazel eyes were twinkling and seemed to glow even more twinkly as Carlton scowled harder, willing her to GO AWAY! "Your face is gonna freeze like that."

Startled, Carlton's blue eyes widened and his jaw dropped as Dunlap's grin grew wider. Her amber eyes seemed to twinkle with even more wicked humor if that was possible. Maybe it was the mirth on her face; or maybe he was just well on his way to drunken stupidity, but Carlton heard himself snicker. Then laugh. And then he was laughing long and hard and could hear a soft giggle joining in with his laugh. As the racket he was making died down, he picked up the shot glass. "Wouldn't want that," he shot back dryly. She grabbed the empty PBR bottle and pitched into the recycle bin, smirking. "Didn't think so. Now drink the damn whiskey and quit bringing the mood down. You're going to cost me tips." Her words held no bite, however. Carlton lifted the shot glass in a mock toast. "Wouldn't dream of it," and tilted it back. Liquid gold washed down and Carlton discovered a new friend. Karen was wiping the bar down. He nodded at her. "Nice. Put it on my tab." Karen shrugged. "It's on the house. Like I said, you look like you needed it."

Carlton watched for a few minutes, really looked at Karen Dunlap as she moved behind the bar with a speed and efficiency he wished all bartenders had. Peoplewatching was always a favorite pastime. She was-Carlton let his eyes rake her up and down through police lenses. Average height, 5'5". 120 lbs. Blonde hair, closer to a shade of honey gold. And he now knew her eyes were hazel, the same shade as the whiskey she had just served him. He let the police lens drop and really looked at her. On the slender side, but-his eyebrow raised at her jeans that fit her…quite well. She had, as an older officer named Johnson would say, a nice bit of junk in the trunk. Tiny waist. His eyes kept going up her snug tee, and he swallowed. Nice indeed. Just the right…best get off that line of thought. Back to Dunlap. Long graceful neck. Beautiful lines. To be fair, it was a strange predilection of his for necks. Beautiful, feminine, and long graceful lines.

Carlton finally got to her face. High cheekbones and sun-kissed California skin (even though he knew from her files she was from nowhere near California), a mouth almost too wide and full for her face, curved in half-smile, but seemed to work with an aquiline nose. All in all, not bad. Karen Dunlap was-not hot. Pretty didn't work either. Neither did cute. Especially because she'd probably belt someone who called her that. Stunning? Maybe. She was definitely attractive though, and Carlton Lassiter the male (and the police officer), liked precision. And he needed the right word for her.

He was startled out of his revery by another whiskey shot slammed on the bar and those odd whiskey-colored eyes narrowed at him. "Like I said earlier, I'm not on the menu. Here." Karen pushed the shot towards him. Her eyes were blazing gold fire and there was a flush of rage to her cheeks. Carlton stared at her, shocked. Lovely. That was it. Karen Dunlap was utterly lovely, with an innate sense of self-control and confidence that glowed. Something Calrton envied. He smiled. "Never said you were-" Carlton decided to take another chance tonight. "Karen." Her eyes widened at the use of her first name. Carlton shrugged. "You know my first name, so I'll assume it's okay to know yours." He wondered if she would slap him. He tended to have that effect on women. Well, maybe not the few whom he managed to get into bed. They may still ditch him, but at least they couldn't say anything bad in THAT department. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the older lady he had worked for one summer between college semesters. Lonely widow with a a beautiful smile.

Carlton waited for Karen to tell him to fuck off (though she didn't seem to be one to drop f-bombs a whole lot). She didn't. Karen Dunlap…again, she smiled that odd, wry smile, a faint respect in her eyes. And then she laughed. And then giggled at the absurdity of her laughter, trying to get herself under control as patrons were staring at her. Even Carlton was slightly amused. She finally managed to get a hold of herself. "Fair enough, but watch your eyes." He nodded and then posed the question that had been on his mind since she had given him that PBR. "So, YEARLING, what's with the moonlighting?"

Karen shrugged as she leaned on the bar. "Funny thing about that. Tuition's a bitch." Lassiter nodded in surprise. That he got. But he knew her academy scores and her college scores (hey, doing research and records had to be good for something, a sentiment he was eminently sure she would agree with). "You don't have a scholarship?" She smiled gently. "I tried to get the one scholarship they had."

"Oh." Lassiter looked down, feeling like an ass. He assumed UC-Santa Barbara had more than the scholarship he had gotten. "Hey, it's okay." He looked up and her eyes were kind. Karen didn't even look remotely upset. "Better person got it. You're a year ahead of me. More experience." Carlton was suddenly intrigued. She managed to acknowledge he deserved his scholarship with no bitterness or disregard for her own skill. Merely a statement of fact.

"Besides," Lassiter looked up at Karen as she spoke again. "One small thing to get over. A Master's is one step closer to detective and detective exam, which is one step closer to Chief." Carlton leaned forward. "Going to be kind of tough. This city's never had a female chief." He slugged the whiskey back. "But I've read your files. You're damned good for a first year. Even Henry Spencer says you're the best he's ever seen," he noticed her cheeks pinked in sudden shyness. He grinned, rather liking the contrast from the little smartass he had seen all night. "Tell you what though, I'll make you my head detective when I'm chief if you stick around here." He smirked as the pink disappeared and she smiled dangerously. "No thanks. But you can be my head detective when I'm chief." Her smirk was-

Carlton was pleasantly surprised at the turn this night was taking. And he was seeing a yearling, people whom he usually had little time for, seeing Karen Dunlap in a new light. Above all else, Carlton liked intelligence and razor-sharp wit, and Karen seemed to have it in spades. Buddy Holly was playing on the old jukebox. Carlton drank his whiskey, watching as she cleaned up around the bar, laughing with regulars and newbies, telling them off when necessary with no problem, once physically throwing out a large 6'3" drunken idiot. Carlton had almost intervened, but her hazel eyes had narrowed at him as he started to slide off his stool and she shook her head, indicating she could take care of herself, thank you very much.

In between watching her, he worked on the rather terrifying problem of what to do about Libby Dalton. He already knew what would happen when he walked in Friday night. She would pretend like she had no idea of what he was talking about and he would be humiliated. Or he could not show up, knowing they would laugh about it all night and make fun of his fear. Or worse, she would remember meeting with him, and then humiliate him in front of everyone. Probably ask him to dance. The worst kind of humiliation. Carlton knew it was a stupid fear, but it was a long ingrained one. While other kids in high school had made jackasses of themselves with ridiculous pranks and figuring out the social maneuverings of dance and small talk, he had been working, because growing up with no money made life even more crappy.

Hence, even today, he still felt ridiculous and awkward at social events, like that awkward teenager he had never grown out of being deep down inside, never knowing what to say or how to be smooth with women. The few he had gotten (exactly for that widow he refused to disparage because of her utter kindness), had been slightly drunk. He slammed down his fifth beer of the night, as old insecurities and anger bubbled in him. He was suddenly angry as hell. The blood rushed to his face as he remembered Libby Dalton's sidelong glance and she and Miller's shared laughter at his expense. And he was angry. He wanted to throw that beer bottle at the jukebox which was playing the Del-Vikings' "Come Go With Me." He had always hated that song. Carlton suddenly wanted to get riproaring drunk.

He looked up, eyes narrowed in a steel-blue haze of heat and rage as he heard a soft, /pretty/ contralto singing along with the Del Vikings. "Come, come, come/Come and go with me…/ Karen Dunlap was wiping down tables and picking up glasses with nothing but dregs in them and her tips. For some reason, her calm presence made him angrier. "Dunlap, give me another damn Jack," he barked. "Now!"

She straightened and carried the glasses behind the bar, pocketing the wad of cash she had collected, pinning him with a watchful stare, eyes the color of Jack Daniel's whiskey narrowed, searching his face. He glared at her, wanting to humiliate the way he knew he had been humiliated. Carlton glared at her. "What? Are you deaf? I want another one! NOW!" One fine brow raised, and her glare matched his. She didn't try to giggle her way out of getting shouted at and she didn't run to the back crying. All she did was quietly and definitively say, "No."

"What?" Lassiter's voice was dangerously low. Karen didn't even flinch. "No. I think you've had enough…_Lassiter."_ Her emphasis on his last name and her quiet calm angered him more, and yet—Carlton felt a grudging respect spark somewhere in the back of his brain, but he quickly shoved it down. "Give me the goddamn drink Dunlap." He was angry and ashamed. Ashamed at his own insecurities, ashamed he could still feel humiliated after all these years, angry at the cruel pity that had been thrown his way by Libby Dalton, and even angrier that she and Miller were having a good laugh at his expense. And he hated the fact that deep down inside he was still that awkward, lonely sixteen-year-old twerp still looking for someone to just give him a chance. And he was more ashamed that he knew he was taking out his anger and shame on someone who had been nothing but…sweet and kind to him. And still that horrible voice in his brain wouldn't shut up. /Maybe she's just one more person who feels sorry for you. She's just better at hiding it./ And the rage built back up, so he pushed back at her.

"I am paying for another whiskey, so give me one, dammit! That's an order, Dunlap, seeing as you're _under_ me." He had seen how she had reacted to Grady earlier and he knew what she would take his emphasis to be and the bastard part of him watched with satisfaction as scarlet washed across her face. Carlton noticed Karen's eyes now resembled amber, that oddly pretty jewel with its undertones of green and brown. Her voice was ice. "I don't see a uniform. And I'm off the clock." Karen's voice didn't raise; it stayed deliberately steady, and that respect that pricked at his brain earlier began to grow as she refused to take the bait. "So are you. So therefore, I'm not _under_ you or anyone else right now. However," he looked up as her voice and glare softened. "You are well on your way to drunk, and you're obviously pissed off about something that is not me. So no more beer, whiskey, or anything else." Hazel eyes never left blue. "I will offer coffee, tea, juice, or water. And since I'm the bartender here, that puts me in charge, meaning _you're under_ me." Her voice grew hard at the end of her sentence and Carlton felt heat rise from his belly at the emphasis on the words she threw back at him, feeling the shame grow, this time deservedly so. Karen pulled the tumbler away. "And if you ever talk to me like that again, I'm throwing your ass out of here."


	3. Chapter 3

In an instant, Carlton got what some might consider a vision of the future—if he believed in such crap. He suddenly knew Karen Dunlap would make Chief someday, somewhere. He watched as her—lovely, yes, definitely lovely—face softened, her wide, full mouth curving into a smile. "Now…coffee, tea, water, or juice? What's your poison?"

Carlton Lassiter could admit it to himself. She had his respect. And she deserved it. "I'm sorry, Karen."

"Okay. Now again, what's your poison?"

"Coffee."

"Okay." She went to the back room. Carlton suddenly felt embarrassed as he realized-no one else was in the bar. /Huh./ Was it really that late? He looked at his watch. Yeah, it was really that late.

Karen placed two cups of coffee on the bar, along with cream and sugar. Carlton looked at her questioningly. She smiled. Carlton felt—something-and he wasn't sure if he liked it. He definitely didn't hate it though. Karen sat down on the bar stool next to him. "So, you're obviously upset about something. And since I'm a bartender, I've got the time and it's part of the job description." She took a sip of her coffee, sighing in pleasure, her eyes closed. Carlton felt a twinge in his gut at the absolute pleasure on her face. /If that's just coffee…/ Again, he was not happy with where his train of thought was going. He tried to put her off. "Nothing. So-"

"So what made you decide to spit nails at me?" Not nosiness, just simple curiosity. She made a face as she watched him put in enough sugar to choke a goat into his cup. He smirked. "I like it sweet."

"Would you like coffee with your sugar?" Carlton laughed at her acerbic response, feeling his anger dissipate. "Touché Dunlap."

"Karen." Blue eyes met hazel ones that seemed to constantly sparkle with wickedness. Carlton shrugged, not sure why he was unburdening himself to a yearling of all things, but remarkably finding himself very much at ease with Karen Dunlap. "Suffice to say, I thought I actually had a date next Friday, but it was a huge setup to make me feel like a total jackass. And I was stupid enough to fall for it. Which really does make me a jackass, I guess." He felt the anger spark again, but pushed it deep down for when he was in the privacy of his apartment and could get drunk to his heart's content. "I hate pity and I hate being made fun of," he mumbled, and cursed his fair Irish skin as he felt the heat crawl up his neck into his face. Silence.

"Libby Dalton isn't worth the anger or the time you're giving her." Carlton Lassiter was rarely surprised. This was one of those times. Karen's smile was friendly and her eyes held no judgement…or pity. Still…how did she…"I am a cop, y'know. I do have observational skills." Still stunned, Carlton couldn't get out a word out and settled for gaping like a fish. Karen shrugged as she put her cup down. "Besides, I overheard your conversation."

"You eavesdropped?!" He couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice. "Little paranoid, are we?" Carlton was simultaneously pissed off and—and it served to piss him off more—aroused from Karen Dunlap matching him comment for comment. She took another sip of coffee. "Nope. I can just hear a dog die three miles away. Just good hearing. Plus I was cleaning the table next to you when you were talking with her." Carlton vaguely recalled her doing so. Oh hell, she already knew, so why not humiliate himself further?

"I just…she seemed…seems…sweet, I gu-"

"She's not." He look up at her heated interruption, surprised at the anger he could feel emanating from Karen. Those whiskey eyes were blazing heated gold. Karen Dunlap's face was livid….it seemed…on HIS behalf. "Lassiter, she's not. She's vindictive and spiteful and she has a mean streak a mile wide." Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were blazing with rage. But why would she be so angry about that?

"Jealous?" His biting remark slipped out before he could stop it…as always. Her narrowed and her lips thinned. To be honest, it was a fair assumption. Most of the women on the force were jealous of Libby Dalton, with her blonde hair and green eyes and huge…tracts of land. Carlton heard a dismissive snort. "Hardly." He sipped coffee, trying to get why a yearling would be—angry on his behalf. What else could it be but jealousy? "Sounds like it."

Karen glared at him. "It's not. It's anger. Anger that she spends half her time trying to flirt to get out of assignments, giving the rest of us who have to work twice as hard to get half as much respect as men another hurdle to climb. It's because I don't like watching someone get set up to be humiliated. Because that's what's going to happen and you know it too. You're going to show up and she's going to act like she doesn't know what you're talking about and she, Miller, and all the rest of those jackasses are going to sit there and have a good laugh at your expense while you stand there and have no place to hide. But hey…maybe I am just jealous. Why work so hard for a Master's when all I have to do is sleep with my superiors?" She picked up her cup and walked to the back. Carlton could hear clanking of glasses and it was a wonder she didn't break them…or him.

Belatedly, Carlton remembered when she had entered the bar. Tom Grady's remark /had/ been out of line. Karen Dunlap hadn't blushed and didn't look for someone to help her. She had handled it like a hard-nosed pro. He remembered some locker room talk about Karen—calling her frigid; needed warming up, probably a little hellion in bed, etc. Henry Spencer, a hard-assed detective whom Carlton admired for his skills, had told whatever jackwads who were shooting their mouths off to shut it, that talking about a fellow officer like that would not be tolerated. Karen Dunlap was a hellion alright, a damned hotspur, and in no way frigid. Carlton's thoughts went back to most of tonight. She had been…warm with him, despite his barking at her, despite obviously knowing who he was, and with a smartass, razor-sharp wit that was…sexy.

He thought about his interactions with Officer Dalton, er, Libby. She was gorgeous, no doubt, but had walked away (like everyone else) when she was bored or found him pointless. Still…it seemed at the surface, Carlton had (for once) gotten what everyone else had wanted. Who had agreed to meet up with him as a goddamned joke. Carlton looked up at the object of his affections for the past-no dammit! Karen Dunlap had been the bartender, and he was glad to know there was another officer who was as ambitious and had as hard a work ethic as he did. Not affection. Respect. Yeah. That was it.

Carlton tried to cross the bridge he was burning. "So, you going to the get together I'm supposed to be humiliated at next week?" Might as well acknowledge the truth of what Karen had observed. And nothing wrong with friendship with a female…who was pre—NO!

Karen was speaking. He should quit staring at her before she thought he was a wackaloon. "What did you say?"

"I said," there was pink to her cheeks as if she had known what he was thinking. "Nope. Someone's gotta hold down this rathole." Carlton pushed down the twinge of disappointment and tried to come off nonchalant. "Well, sorry you won't be there. Figured maybe you could save me a dance after I finish being the department joke." And, by golly, if he didn't feel a slight smile come to his face as she laughed…no, giggled. "Yeah. Being propositioned by drunk guys. I can do that here and get paid-" Her mouth snapped shut and color flooded her face as Carlton grinned, knowing it had hit her how that sounded. She grinned sheepishly. "Okay, you know what I meant."

Carlton held up his hand to stop her protests. "S'okay. I was just hoping since Dalton and company were going to make a jackass out of me anyway, I could at least dance with someone who was used to dealing with clumsy jackasses." Karen sipped her water as she leaned on the bar. "You mean like holding you up and lugging you around in a slow dance?" Carlton smiled ruefully. "Any type of dancing really. Was too poor in school to go through that hell and learn the first time. Had to work."

Again, that whiskey gaze held his and an odd half-smile ghosted across her face. "It's not that hard. Like high school, only more awkward." Carlton shrugged, hoping she was getting his unspoken hint. Not that he was the least bit…Karen was kind and…but he could never…and…he took a sip of water. "Figured at the very least, YOU wouldn't laugh in my face. Hell, maybe you could teach me."

Those odd amber eyes caused him to squirm uncomfortably. He could feel the heat rising in his face, cursing his fair Irish skin. He felt her move away quickly, the flash of the green-checked dishcloth sweeping past him. /Well, hell. I was just joking./ Liar. He faintly heard the opening beats of Stand By Me. Didn't this place play anything but oldies? /Of course she was just being nice. Way to go assh-/ "Holy—" Carlton was startled out of his self-bashing by Karen Dunlap's presence next to him, quiet and watchful. He squirmed under that gaze. "Look, I get it. I'll l—"


	4. Chapter 4

"Well?" Karen interrupted him, standing there with her hand held out. Carlton looked down at her open hand. "Wha—" Could he not even finish a word? /Asshat./

"You said you wanted to learn."

Panic began to take over. "NO, I—that is—I don't—"

"I'm offering."

"But people—"

"You're the only one in here." Her smile was soft. "Who's going to see you?" He didn't remember putting his hands in her. He didn't remember her leading him to the middle of the bar, but he found himself there, staring down at large, dark eyes like whiskey and a lovely face as Ben E. King sang with soul. Eyes like pure amber.

"I—uh, that is—" Carlton almost hit the ceiling as a small, tapered hand, unusually elegant for someone who worked in a bar, slid into his. Whiskey eyes glimmered in the dim, smoky haze. He could feel that cursed heat flowing to his face as Karen took his other arm and pressed his hand to his shoulder blade.

"This is how I know where you want me to go." She pushed on his hand and her body reacted as she moved slightly to the left. "Now, just move and make me move." Ben E. King's heart and soul infused the room. "No I won't-be afraid. Oh, I won't be afraid—"

Carlton moved to the left, his arm jerkily pulling Karen with him. He cursed himself internally, wondering if someone else would be laughing at him tonight as well. "It's fine." His blue eyes widened at her husky voice. "You're doing fine. Just move me." No laughter, just…kindness. Warmth.

Again, a jerky step to the left. Then right. Carlton felt like an idiotic robot. They kept moving in that jerky cadence. Right, left, right, left. He began to relax. Not much, just a little. Okay, maybe a little more as Dunlap—no, Karen—moved with him. Carlton could smell a faint scent of lemon blossoms and roses and realized he was holding her close enough to pick up her perfume or body lotion, whatever it was that smelled so damn good. And she was soft. And small. His large scarecrow hands could fit around her slender waist and then some. And…she was a whiskey girl. With that husky voice and those golden hazel eyes, Carlton Lassiter knew instinctively that while Karen might drink a glass of wine or champagne occasionally, when she was thoughtful, angry, or hurt, she would reach for Irish whiskey.

"So darlin' darling/ stand by me…" He almost jumped to high heaven as he felt a gentle touch lifting his chin. "Don't look down." A wry smile graced her absolutely lovely face and Carlton suddenly had a vision of what she would look like in darkness and cotton sheets. /No. Get that out of your mind moron. Can't be—she would never anyway—this is just-/ He bit his lip and tried to look down again. And again Karen lifted his chin. "You keep doing that and you'll trip over your own feet. You're doing fine, Carlton. Just relax."

And again Carlton found she would move where he did, that somehow she seemed to be closer, somehow his hand had dropped from her shoulder to his waist…and she didn't seem to mind at all. They began to move as he relaxed, moved in tandem…and it felt natural, liquid, soft and warm, almost like—the thought hit him with the force of a bomb and he stumbled knocking both of them into the bar.

Carlton inhaled sharply as his body pressed against hers, his arms locked around her waist as he pushed her against the bar. He looked down at Karen und-/NO! Not under! Asshat! You must be the clumsiest idiot on the planet!/ Carlton quickly released Karen and jumped back like a jackrabbit on crack. "Damn Karen! I am so, so sorry! I just-I'm so-"

"It's okay. You did fine." Her eyes again held that mischievous twinkle. "Until you looked down." The laughter was in her voice, and it was catching. Because Carlton instinctively knew Karen wasn't laughing at him, but at the situation. And he snickered. And it grew progressively louder. And somewhere he heard a husky, throaty laugh and again, his senses again heated up as he wondered how husky her voice sounded when she had just woken up. He knew there was a small but powerful contingent in the male locker room that would have killed to get the wry, sarcastic blonde with the great ass (which Carlton Lassiter fully acknowledged. He wasn't dead) in bed. He also knew it wouldn't be him. Karen Dunlap could probably snap her long, elegant fingers and have anyone, and yet here she was…no laughter, no pity, just sweet and kind and warm and…absolutely so, so lovely. Razor-sharp cheekbones like Hepburn, a mouth too wide for her face but oh-so-lush, and large dark gold eyes that made him feel like he was drowning in honey. The world was dime and hazy and he saw her face tilting up to his and he could feel his arms going around her waist, pulling curves and heat to him as Ben E. King sang on.

Lush, full lips brushed butterfly softness over his. And somehow, they were moving, and she was following his lead, but they weren't dancing even though his arms were pulling her soft curves against his long, lean lines.

"Whenever you're in trouble/ won't you stand by me-oh darlin', stand by me, stand by me.../ Slowly, Karen pulled away, her eyes widened in surprise, her mouth swollen and pink, and broke that weird spell of palpable heat, closeness, and rhythm-and /Oh God!/

Carlton pushed Karen away quickly, stepping back as if she was on fire. "God! I'm so-oh crap! Damn it! This-you and me-just no!" Something passed across her face and Carlton watched as her liquid eyes became dying embers and her face became a lovely, icy mask. /Aw, hell! I didn't me-/

"Yeah, well, I have to lock up, so you don't have to go home, but you're not staying here." She started to walk to the bar and it hit Carlton Lassiter that he could see the flush across her cheeks was different from her earlier one and he wanted to hit himself as his words came back up through his throat like vomit. He had to fix this. He had to. Because-well, because! "Karen! Look, Dunlap-it's not like that-"

She stepped back, holding her hands up in a stop gesture, perfectly controlled, perfectly in control. "Hey, it's okay. Whatever. We'll chalk it up to the music. I just need you to leave so I can lock up and maybe get to sleep sometime tonight." She turned to unlock the door and let him out and again, Carton had a weird-he'd say psychic vision if he believed in that crap-so, a weird epiphany that not settling this would be the worst mistake he ever made. Maybe he would work for her someday. /Like the SBPD would ever have a female chief, but still.../ Karen had been kind and funny, and warm-oh so warm, and something-no, can't happen. For either of them. But, Carlton realized, not because he didn't want to, but because for her sake, it couldn't.

"Listen to me!" His voice was angrier than he intended. Her beautiful whiskey eyes narrowed. "You need to leave."

"Would you shut the hell up and listen to me?" He grabbed her arm, determined to make her listen and hope she didn't cold-cock him in the process. "Karen, it's not that I do-" She smirked and it was like ice. "Hey, it's okay. I get it. I hear what the guys say about me, that I'm a frigid bitch, that I'm NOTHING like LIbby Dal-"

"No damn it! Shut up for Chrissakes! You're right! You're nothing like her and you damn well aren't a frigid bitch! You're smart, you don't put up with crap, especially from guys who-well, the crap in the locker room, and you're tough and-"

Well, her eyes were widening and she was stepping back like she thought he was a wackaloon, so he might as well go for the gold. "And you're…." the only word he knew fit her, "just so damn lovely and…pretty. And too damn smart to stay in a uniform for the rest of your life and it's not fair, but we both know your name would get dragged through every type of locker room mud, even if it's just me. You know it would Karen. And being a chief of police? You deserve that chance someday Karen."

Carlton waited for her to tell him to get his crazy ass self gone, cringed knowing the whole station would know what an ass he had been, because really, he had probably just scared the everliving hell out of her. /Scared off a good one, Lassiter. Way to go./ Still, he knew he was right. Her getting involved with ANY male of the notorious boys' club of SBPD, even kissing a schmuck like him, would shoot her in the foot though. Not that her mouth hadn't felt good on his, and her body against…NO! She was staring at him. Carlton hung his head, knowing he had had at least not totally repulsed her earlier in the evening. "Alright, I'm going."

"Carlton-" He looked down and saw that small, elegant hand on his arm. Blue eyes locked on her lovely, lovely face that seemed perfectly suited to darkness and haze. And those eyes, like rich, dark honey whiskey. That lush, beautiful mouth was curved in a gentle smile and he felt that same searing arousal from her touch. Damn, he wished he wasn't right. "Thanks. And-yeah." He almost swore he saw regret in her beautiful eyes.

He smiled. "See you 'round, Karen." She pushed blonde hair out of her eyes. "See you 'round." He suddenly realized how much smaller she was than him as she stood on her tiptoes. He closed his eyes and sighed as her lips ghosted across his cheek and just barely brushed over his mouth and shivered at the coldness that was left there when she pulled back. Her dark eyes were unreadable.

Carlton nodded and started to walk out. He stopped, remembering his weird though on the future. "Hey, if we're…ever both chiefs-in like, twenty years from now, save me a dance and all bets are off, okay?" But that was never going to happen. And it didn't matter, because her smile was like a fallen angels. "Okay. Night."


	5. Chapter 5

May 2016….

Carlton rolled his eyes as Spencer got on the mike with his tie wrapped around his head and sang an off key rendition of "Silly Little Love Songs," demanding that Guster sing backup as he serenaded his "hot bride." Shawn had tried to get Carlton up there, but the threat of shooting him had solved that problem, though O'Hara did make a lovely bride and she loved the moron. Hell, Carlton did too, he guessed…sort of…he supposed asshatness grew on a person.

He looked over at Juliet, radiant in white and giggling over champagne, gossiping with Karen Vick. It hadn't been the same since they left, even though he was finally Chief of SBPD (with Karen's blessing). He missed them. Oh hell, now he was turning into an emotional pansy!

Both Karen and Juliet were killing themselves laughing over Spencer and Guster's idiotic antics, while Henry was just rolling his eyes, at least until Maddie Spencer thwapped him on the head. Carlton looked back again at the two women who had put up with more crap from him over the years, his eyes resting on the matron of honor, beautiful and…lovely in her dark green, Grecian gown, making her blonde hair even more golden. He felt eyes on him as he sipped his pineapple flavored punch and locked his blue eyes with hazel ones, golden like Jack Daniel's whiskey.

Karen smiled wryly, even as she held a sleeping nine-year-old on her lap, flower crown askew on honey gold curls. God, she still looked good. He felt Henry behind him. "What?"

"So when are you gonna get off your ass and ask her on a date instead of staring at her like a prized hog at the county fair?" Carlton raised his eyebrow, as he didn't think Karen would appreciate the comparison. He shrugged. Karen's divorce had been final the day that idiot Trout had come in and suspended her, but he had been her Head Detective then, still nursing his wounded heart from Marlo's gentle dismissal of him because she wanted to find out who she was. And, Carlton knew it had been right to let her. And then Karen was gone, had become Chief of Police in San Francisco, taking Juliet and the village idiots with her. And then he become Chief of Police for Santa Barbara. And now they were both-Carlton smiled. They were equals. Something pricked at his memory. He shoved his cup in Henry's hand. "Henry, do me a favor." His eyes never left Karen.

"What?" He whispered something and Henry glowered. "Lassiter, she was my protege once and I still feel the need to say the same thing. You screw this up-"

Carlton Lassiter straightened his tie. "Not going to. Just do it." Henry nodded and moved. Carlton walked over to them where Spencer was acting like a lovesick nitwit on crack. He totally got Henry's warning. /Hurt her, I'll kill you./

Shawn threw his arms around Lassiter and Gus. "Man, it's so great to have my best friends here! You too, Lassie!"

"Spencer, hands off or O'Hara's a widow."

"Carlton!" Karen thwapped him gently with her free hand and smirked. Gus grinned. "C'mon Lassie! It's a wedding. Live a little!" The beginning beats of a song started. Carlton grinned. "I intend to." The opening strains started and Ben E. King crooned, "When the night…"

Carlton held out his hand and took an honest chance for the first time in a long time. "We're both chiefs." Karen stared at him in confusion. And then amber eyes like whiskey widened and a smile of regret passed across her face. "Carlton…that is, Iris-"

"I'll take her Chief!" Juliet quickly jumped in and pried the sleeping flower girl from her mother's grasp. Karen looked around…shyly? And then she looked back at Carlton, his blue eyes were an ocean of memories. He looked down at her and her smile was like a fallen angel's and she slipped her hand into his. Carlton led her to the dance floor, taking her right hand in his, wrapping his other long arm around her still slender waist. Her left hand, devoid of a ring for a while now, rested on his shoulder.

"So darlin', darlin', stand by me…" A hand lifted her chin and Carlton inhaled sharply as whiskey eyes and a wry smile brought back a night in a bar when he had been young, insecure, and stupid. "I was told don't look down by a great teacher." Karen smiled and he felt soft curves pressed against his lean frame. "What else did she teach you? What took you so long, Lassiter?"

"I'm an idiot. What are you doing this weekend-Dunlap?" She giggled and rested her head on his shoulder. "Whatever you want, Carlton."

Shawn, Gus, and Juliet, who was holding securely onto a sleeping Iris, stood there watching as Karen and Carlton….well, maybe they shouldn't be watching. Juliet smiled, knowing Carlton had always had a secret thing for Karen and she had finally gotten it out of him a couple of months ago. Gus look at them both. "Uhh-this is creepy."

Shawn nodded. "I know. It's like watching mom and dad have se-"

"Shawn!"


End file.
